


Maybe not the way we thought we’d planned

by gooddadstan



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate universe - dimensional travel, Angst, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Fluff, Gen, Mentions of Time Travel, More tags to be added, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake will get a hug, its not actually time travel, tim has a lot of anxiety okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23201749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gooddadstan/pseuds/gooddadstan
Summary: Tim Drake’s universe went to hell in a hand basket before anyone could stop it. Now, he’s gone back to try and fix it all, but thing’s aren’t quite right with where the machine dropped him, and well? He might just have to figure it out from there.Or: In which Tim Drake goes to another universe without realizing it, finds a new family, and learns himself some self care.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne & Tim Drake
Comments: 75
Kudos: 465





	1. Our world’s ending at noon (could we all just move to the moon)

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title is from Mariana’s Trench “Dearly Departed”, and chapter title is from Conan Gray’s “Generation Why”
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Tim Drake had one purpose here. The machine only had enough energy for a one-way trip, too, so he guesses that it all works out in the end. It should all work out in the end, anyway, so long as he can get the job done. He’s got the flash drive prepared, the machine hooked up to the generator, and the Batcave spanning around him. This is the end. This is the last time he’s going to see the Batcave like it is now. Which, admittedly, isn’t the worst thing in the world, considering the smattering of blood that covers the display cases, and the mess of the medbay that nobody would want to clean up, and the bodies in the corner and maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. If there’s any possibility that the time he goes back to could end up as bad as this one, any possibility at all that he would have to live through this again, he doesn’t want to do it. But he has no choice in the matter, now does he. The plan had remained the same from the very beginning, and here he was trying to disobey Batman’s wishes. He never had been a good Robin, now had he. 

But he was, wasn’t he? He went through all the steps necessary to get where he is now, he did the research, he studied the epidemiology needed to prevent any disease known to man up until this point, and he could only hope to whatever god existed that it would be enough. Because there was nothing in the blood of anyone who had contracted this to indicate what done this. Because all he had was guesses and speculation and for some unknown reason he had the chance to go back with this knowledge and hope beyond hope that he could make it better. That anyone could make it better. That he could find the Batman of the past and convince him this was a threat and Tim was not, and create the necessary support systems to keep Earth afloat. 

So Tim has the time machine. And the blueprints. And the notes and blood samples and written account of what happened from any possible source and anything he could conceivably need from this version of reality. All so he can go to another one. Because that wasn’t terrifying in the slightest, nope. He had it all under control. 

With all of this in mind, Tim places the flashdrives into the time machine, and steps in himself. It’s now or never, he tells himself. Or rather, _then_ or never. 

~~~

The first thing Tim Drake noticed when he was forcefully ejected from the time machine was that it put him in the wrong time. Well, it was actually that they always should’ve made the Batcave floor just a little less of a pain to land on, but the timeframe was an incredibly close second, and exponentially more important. The way the machine had ejected him meant that he was facing the wall of cases, where Jason’s Robin was front and center. Except there was no case of Jason’s Robin costume. Meaning Jason never died. Meaning someone is currently alive, as Robin, maybe even _in this cave_ , and the time machine didn’t do its job right. And Tim was in his Robin costume. _What_ , and he thinks this with every ounce of respect for Alfred he has, the _fuck_. 

About seven seconds too late, Tim notices that the Batcave is empty. Frantically, he whips his head around to make sure that he’s not back in his time, but no, there’s still no extra Robin case, and there’s no blood on the wall, and there’s no bodies in the corner. The bodies of the people he loved. The bodies of people who would never be able to do good again. The bodies of-

There’s a voice coming from the stairs. It’s Batman, voice not so grating as the Batman Tim knows, not so lighthearted as the Brucie that’s the darling of the public. And Tim should move, should face the stairs and explain himself the second he can, but he can’t. He’s just staring at the corner where he can still see them, just barely through the haze of his vision. 

The hand on his shoulder sets muscle memory into motion. Get the hand off, turn, attack. He’s done it hundreds of times before, and the height is so familiar that the punch to the trachea is one that might even get him a satisfied grunt. 

Instead, he gets silence and two hands landing harder to secure his shoulders. Tim tries to push them up, tries to curl in on himself until he can get out of the grip and move, hands moving in unaimed punches and feet attempting badly angled kicks, but once the hands pass his ears he’s being turned again and his arms are jerked into a safety hold. 

The world freezes. Batman is mumbling something in his ear, almost reassurances, but that’s not right, Batman never reassured him on anything other than saying his form was correct. Everything in his body is too tense, he’s a cable about to snap in Batman’s hands, because somehow they are Batman’s hands, the same calluses in the same places, the lines he can feel fold against his skin the same as the ones he’d traced on sleepless nights throughout the past week. 

And he’s crying, he realizes, far too late. The tears are running down his cheeks unbidden, and the second he tries to go back to breathing through his nose he realizes he can’t, because the snot that built up with those tears somehow managed to escape his notice. So he’s crying, in the safety hold of a Batman that doesn’t know him, a Batman that hasn’t had to relearn grief, a Batman that probably thinks he’s a threat because Tim hasn’t managed to give _any_ explanation. 

But this Batman is still whispering reassurances in his ear. This Batman isn’t holding the safety hold too tight, or putting him in handcuffs or a prison cell, this Batman is letting him cry without judgement or reprimand. 

Tim might not know how to deal with this Batman. This manages to be an oversight in the plan.

~~~

Bruce Wayne is incredibly confused. He’s the same level of concerned, but how a very small child in a blood-smattered Robin suit (with pants, which at this point is a little bit weird to see) managed to get into the Batcave with a bin full of papers and flashdrives only to mentally check out while staring at a corner, he doesn’t know. The large machine in the middle of the room with an open hatch might have something to do with it. 

The child is currently crying in his arms, the bin forgotten on the floor. He keeps whispering in the child’s ear, but there’s no response to either the hold or the words. As softly as he can, he turns to face Alfred, not quite sure what response he’s looking for. Alfred motions towards the now open medbay, and moves to put on gloves. 

Maneuvering the kid is easier than it should be, and the second he hits the bed in the bay Alfred is checking visible skin for injury. The kid doesn’t even seem to notice it, his eyes still trained on the same corner of the cave. 

Alfred moves the kid’s arms and legs with a practiced eye, searching for any hint of injury outside of the crusted blood on the uniform. After a couple of minutes, he takes off the gloves and faces Bruce. “Nothing but some scratches. But I must say, Master Bruce, you will still be expected at dinner when the time arrives. The young sir will stay here without issue.” 

Sure enough, when Bruce redirects his attention to the kid, he’s asleep.


	2. keep my fingers crossed, keep my knees weak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed a lil somethin somethin in the other chapter, though nothing major, so if you’re interested go back and read that to see if you can pick up on it!
> 
> Chapter title is from Catastrophize by Noah Kahan

Tim woke up to Batman staring at him. Which, at this point, isn’t entirely uncommon? And that might say something about Batman’s paranoia in of itself, but any time Tim’s in the cave when he falls asleep, Batman is there when he wakes up. Except for last time. Because Batman is dead. Was dead? Is. Dead people don’t just come back. 

But if Batman is dead then who’s staring at him. It _feels_ like Batman, from the weight of it that he’s never quite felt the same way even in the most heinous of the villains he’s faced. He scrambles for something that could explain this, the usual slew of shapeshifters and fear gas popping up first, until he remembers the machine. He went back in time. To before Jason died. So it _is_ Batman, just not… his Batman. 

Great. Fine. Stunning. Superb. He can work with this. Just open his eyes, explain the situation, prevent the worst end of the world he could think of, and like, fuck off to live the rest of his life in the desert so he doesn’t mess up the timeline more. That last bit is for later Tim to figure out, there’s a more important task at hand. Easy. Done. Except when he opens his eyes, Bruce doesn’t have the cowl on. Not even the suit. And they’re in the medbay, with the curtains open and revealing part of the cave. Which, wow, that sent some conflicting feelings through Tim like a tsunami.

Tim no longer knows how to work with this.

Does past Batman have concern for his own identity? For his _partner’s_ identity? For his business and the thousands of people that work there? Apparently not, considering that he’s not wearing a cowl in front of the strange kid that literally popped into existence in one of the most secure places on the planet. 

Unless Jason _had_ died, and this was just barely after it happened, and this particular brand of recklessness was a grief response he had actually worked through before Tim stepped in. But Batman never gave any indication that he was being reckless with his identity on patrols, no matter how many nights Tim spent with a camera on the Gotham rooftops.

Batman was looking at him, and when he seemed to decide that he had enough of Tim’s attention, he said “Now, I’m sure you have to have a lot of questions, so before anything else let’s get you some water, then you can ask away, okay?” And the water does sound nice, but Batman is _smiling_ at him, an infuriatingly encouraging Brucie smile usually saved for kids at charity galas, and that’s so incredibly wrong that he has to physically cringe before he can do anything else. 

Luckily, Batman is facing away as he does it, but he doesn’t know what the beat of silence is interpreted as when he returns with, “Batman, you have _got_ to hide your identity better.”

Batman laughs, another Brucie expression that always manages to set Tim on edge. “No, no, I’m not Batman, he’s out on patrol right now. That water, though…” He trails off, spurring about the medbay like he doesn’t know every part of this cave system like the back of his hand. 

Tim sees it as an opportunity to get Batman on track, instead of the ditzy billionaire Batman wants him to see. “First cabinet on the left of the sink, same as it’s been since you first started swapping out Dick’s juice boxes for water bottles. Batman, there’s a problem I’m here to solve and I need your help.”

Batman stops, and Tim can watch as he slowly forces himself towards the cabinet. He squeezes the water bottle a bit too tightly to be necessary, and when Tim can see his face again it’s got Batman behind the worry lines instead of Brucie. Finally, familiar territory. “And will this problem endanger any of my children?”

Tim pauses, because of all the things Batman could’ve asked about first he picked his children? But then that’s right, this is when Jason is Robin. Tim couldn’t have known what Batman’s priorities were before his TIm with the title. Tim couldn’t have known a lot of things, like how despite the hard line of questioning, Batman’s eyes on Tim were soft, and the arm (in a T-shirt!) that handed him the water wasn’t pure muscle, it still had the human squishiness of a man willing to spend time with his child. Or maybe it was children, plural, and things weren’t as bad as they had seemed between Dick and Batman before Jason died. A reminder that as much as this Batman would become his through time, this is foreign territory. He had to be cautious. 

“Only if allowed to fester.” Tim said it in his Robin voice, the one with the ambiguous lilt that’s clearly Gothamite at its core. Whether it’s the accent or his words, something seems to give Batman pause. 

“And how long do we have for this issue to fester.” Batman slides into a chair next to Tim’s bed, speaking slowly to give him time to drink from the bottle in his hands. Somehow, he’s both in the voice Tim known to mean report succinctly, now, and the comforting rumble used on victims. It’s more than a little unnerving.

Rolling the plastic between his palms, Tim thinks. Technically, things had been building up for a long while, but when the tipping point was, well, they couldn’t tell. “The point of no return is. Debatable. It’s best to go through as many preventative measures as possible within as small of a timeframe as can be managed. League intervention will be necessary.” 

There’s a miniscule twitch in Batman’s face that means he wants to narrow his eyes, one that’s usually hidden by the cowl. “Hn.” His head tilts to one side. “What does this issue result in.” Oh boy, now is _that_ a question.

Once again, Tim has to think, so he not-so-subtly takes a sip of water to give him more time. In technicality, it just results in a lot of death and structural damages. But by their standards - which may be higher or lower than normal, at this point Tim honestly doesn’t know - it was the end of the world. Roughly six times over. So it’s a little hard to articulate. Giving one hum of deliberation, he hopes a pseudo-answer will suffice. “Too much to explain in one conversation, and already written out in a flashdrive I brought with me. If I could see the bin, I could show you which one.” 

“The bin you brought with you is not currently on-site. It’s being inspected by my tech expert after a preliminary once-over. That will have to wait until my expert returns with a green light. Until then, care to tell me what sent you here?” So a pseudo-answer will not suffice. Damn. Though it is an easy, if roundabout way to say that Oracle (or still Batgirl?) is checking for malicious intent on the Batcomputer when Tim isn’t able to find out. Not unexpected. Batman not immediately putting Tim in a cell off the right corridor? Incredibly unexpected. 

One short nod as he scrambles to get the past week in order, and Tim explains. “In short, time travel. A series of circumstances left my timeline unlivable, and I was sent back in time to fix it from here due to a lack of other options. We have ideas on how to remedy the timeline, in the drives and blueprints, but it will require investigation on this end.”

“And what decided you were the best person to send?” Because of course Batman would want someone more useful, someone better able to explain with better skills. Batman needed the efficiency that Tim didn’t have. Batman needed a better partner. Not Tim. Tim was the last resort. Nothing more.

He can’t help the slight drop of his head and voice as it comes out as more of a whisper. “There was no one else to send.” He resists the urge to shake his head as he forces his voice to its past steadiness. “Our League had been destroyed, along with the other trusted hero teams or operatives. I waited until I was recovered enough to have no negative effects from the trip, and came here.” 

Batman just looks at him for a moment, and Tim doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, or what he said wrong, because Batman isn’t responding, so he _must_ have done something wrong, but as far as he could tell he gave an accurate, to the point report, if with a little more emotion than needed. Was it that he gave himself time for recovery before the trip? It gave time for the information to dull in his mind, yes, but that wouldn’t have mattered if he’d died from the trip over. It would’ve seemed the same to this time’s Batman, anyway.

Then, Batman’s eyes soften, and instead of focusing on how the League was destroyed, or making Tim elaborate on what the recovery time was for specifically like he thought, Batman said, “Well, that must have been really tough on you. I’m sorry you had to do that. We can deal with that later, when the green light comes back, but for now let’s get some food in you and maybe grab you some proper clothes somewhere. Does that sound good?” 

Error 404, Tim’s brain not found, because absolutely none of that tracks for _any_ time’s Batman Tim had ever seen, except for in talking to the most affected victims. And that was among _Gotham’s_ most affected. They were on another level. This wasn’t the way that Batman talked to someone who was so clearly a Robin. He had the signature domino on and everything, 3D printed in this very cave. “Robin?” The effort was there, but the familiar intonation that Tim could never quite place wasn’t the same. Tim’s Robin was foreign to him. The entire situation was foreign to him. Right. Tim had things to do. Though, for now he guesses those things to do are make himself seem like as little of a threat as possible, and follow Batman’s instructions. 

“Yeah. Of course.” Tim hops off the gurney, the sight of the still-together medbay still pushing a weird state of home and _not right not right_ into the back of his mind, and lets Batman lead the way.

He can do that. He’s done it thus far, right? Just a little bit longer.


	3. The street echoes the sound of laughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today’s chapter title comes from Head Held High by Kodaline!
> 
> As for why it took so long,, I have nothing to say for myself, but please enjoy!

Bruce, quite frankly, doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. The kid knew he was Batman, was apparently resistant to sedatives, and was probably traumatized. Now trauma? He can work with. Resistance to sedatives? Weird, and concerning, but workable. Knowing that Bruce is Batman? That is a whole other issue. He had contingencies, sure, most of which involved memory alteration, but this was a child. This is the kind of kid that they’d hop back onto rooftops after talking to and Jason would yell ‘he’s practically an infant, B! A _fetus!_ ’ followed by a bunch of unintelligible arm gestures and Bruce having to try far too hard not to laugh. So Bruce cannot mess with this kid’s memories. He doesn’t know how much it might alter the ability for memories to form in the future, or change memories that aren’t meant to be changed, or anything along those lines. The only people this memory adjustment thing had been tested on were the adults with fully formed brains that were in the Waynetech medical trial. Which was done legally. And therefore not done on children. So nobody knows how it might affect children. And Bruce isn’t willing to test it now. 

Basically, this was going to be a problem. Because that ‘fetus’ was now in some of Dick’s old clothes, nibbling awkwardly on one of the snack sandwiches Alfred leaves in the fridge for insomniac vigilantes. It’s like the kid doesn’t know how he’s supposed to be acting. Which, then again, fair. The kid is in foreign territory, clearly with enough training to know he should be wary. But even Jason, one of the most distrustful kids Bruce had ever met, scarfed down the food Batman gave him as quickly as he could shove it down his throat. No matter what training, the kid is still a kid. A kid that very much doesn’t act like one, or at the very least tries his damndest not to. 

The kid is also apparently from however long in the future, which creates a whole other slew of issues. Is Bruce going to have to call in Barry for this? Could the kid survive being sent back into his own time? He was awfully thin, his cheeks were edging on hollow, and while he could throw confident punches meant for someone small - Robin punches, a small part of his mind whispers, and he promptly ignores - they didn't have the power behind them they needed to be effective. The kid wasn’t taken care of, that much was clear to him from the moment Bruce took in the kid’s appearance. Then he goes and wakes up, immediately talking about timelines and preventative measures and a lack of options, and Bruce just wants him to calm down, maybe take a nap, get out of a bloodied Robin suit because there are many implications there and he hates all of them, and generally be a child for a while? 

And he succeeded in some of those, because the Robin suit is being processed for blood samples, and… okay he succeeded in one of those. The kid has yet to calm down, has not rested, and is about as far from being a regular kid that a 13-ish-year-old can be. Alright. How likely is this kid to try and run out of the guest room Bruce was informed Alfred had prepared for him? Only one way to find out, he supposes.

At the clearing of Bruce’s throat, the kid… doesn’t necessarily jump, but the stiff anxiety in his limbs only tightens another level, and the focus in his eyes becomes sharper through the haze of exhaustion. “Look, I know you’re worried,” the kid stiffened even further, and Bruce makes a mental note that he doesn’t like people knowing his feelings, ”but we can deal with these issues after we both get some rest. There’s a guest room ready for you, and you’ll be safe there. We can even leave Ace with you if you want. He’s a wonderful cuddler.“ Bruce risks a smile and weighs adding the promise of letting the kid keep a knife or two on him, but the anxiety didn’t seem to get worse from the lack of weaponry so much as the situation in general, so he cans it. 

The kid, for as much as the Robin uniform automatically suggests otherwise, seems willing to follow Bruce’s orders without issue. It’s almost weird how much Dick and Jason’s precedent makes him associate Robin with well-meaning trouble. This Robin only nods and softly declines Ace’s presence. 

Bruce leads him to the guest room, makes clear that the kid is allowed to move things around or ask for help if it’d help make the night more comfortable, and takes his leave. Alfred stands outside the door, a knowing expression on his face. “I suppose I should begin preparing meals for four again, from now on?“ 

”Yes, I’m not entirely certain we’ll be able to send him back to his own time, though we‘ll do our best. Thank you, Alfred.” With a nod, Bruce moves to leave, but the look in Alfred’s eye gives him pause.

“To describe a world so bleak with such impartiality at such a young age. The young man has seen war, master Bruce. One way or another.” 

~~~

Tim wakes up on a bed. A familiar bed, at that, and when his eyes open it looks just like it did almost a year ago when he first started his Robin training. Except this bed had been destroyed along with the rest of the manor, back after everyone had died and the world was falling apart around him. At the very least it was in shambles, nothing but scraps of wood and shredded remnants of a duvet and pillows. 

Here, though, it was in full form, prim and proper and everything someone could expect of Stately Wayne Manor. Because he wasn’t in the Batcave at all. He wasn’t still in the midst of gathering what he needed to travel time to fix everything, he had finished that part of it. Now it was time for execution. Just... after Oracle comes back with the green light on his flash drives. Because Oracle _would_ come back with the green light on his flash drives, she had no reason not to, there were no viruses on there other than the ones that affect the body, there was no misinformation except the ones they had to look out for to stop, it was all meant to help. Tim was just here to help. He had always been there just to help. 

As silently as he can in too-big pajamas, which he’s proud to say is quite silent, thank you very much, Tim creeps out of bed and into the hallway towards the kitchen. He could make his own breakfast without getting in anyone’s way, and then maybe go to the Batcave and prove that his flash drives weren’t going to be an issue. An unfamiliar voice stops him before he can quite get there.

” _Really_ , B? I go off on _one_ overnight trip for school without you, and you go and adopt another kid already? I’m hurt.” It’s joking, but Tim can hear an underlay of actual hurt underneath. It’s Jason. Of course it’s Jason, Tim specifically went back to a time where Jason was Robin, why _wouldn’t_ Jason be in the manor at all. 

Batman chuckles, and _wow_ that’s a weird sound, responds with “Well, chum, he showed up in the basement more than me picking him up myself. You’re still Robin and that’s not going to change. Now, how do you suppose we get some breakfast?”

Jason snorts, and Tim can tell he’s reassured, especially when he immediately shoots back, “More like get Alfred to make us some breakfast, you old man, you’d find a way to burn oatmeal.” Batman laughs again and makes a noise of assent.

There’s some more laughing, and what’s maybe the ruffling of hair, and by the time Tim realizes the footsteps are bounding towards the door instead of the house-wide bell system that Tim could have sworn was in constant use in his time, the door is already swinging open and hitting him in the face. Well, almost hitting him in the face, because his reaction time is trained too well for it to actually hit him. Perks of Shiva training, he supposes. 

But Jason is there, on the other side of the doorframe, a wide grin on his face and happiness bleeding through his posture. He’s facing away from Tim, towards Batman, and walking backwards. Directly into Tim. They tumble, but neither fall, and even before he’s fully righted Tim is mumbling an apology. 

Jason turns as quickly as he can, and as he registers what’s now in front of him his stance relaxes again and a new grin takes residence on his face, a Robin grin, one meant for talking to victims and comforting them. This time’s Batman and Robin seem to do that to Tim a lot more than they have any reason to. “Oh hey! Sorry, didn’t see you there, prolly should be paying a bit more attention to my surroundings.” He rubs the back of his neck in an exaggerated show of embarrassment, and as much as Tim knows it’s meant to put him at ease it only makes him bristle internally. Jason seems to note that, and brings his hand down to his side. “Say, I know you’re s’posed to be Robin and all, but I think we both know it’d be pretty confusing if we were both called Robin, and sketch if you go by Robin as a civilian, so-“

“Slow down there, chum.” Batman intervenes, putting a hand on Jason’s shoulder, only to get an affectionate eye roll in response.

“I was just asking, you got a name you want us to call you? Doesn’t have to be a legal one or anything.” 

And. Wow. There was a lot going on here. First, Batman? Actually freely showing affection? Is he *okay?* Second, Jason is. Quite frankly Jason is overwhelming. For all the months, _years_ , that Tim spent photographing Batman and Robin on rooftops, he’d only seen Jason from a distance. From-a-distance Jason did not seem nearly this enthusiastic, no matter what the mental state of the victims and criminals he dealt with. ...okay, maybe some criminals, but Tim did not fit that bill at all. Hoo boy, Tim is *not* prepared to deal with this. What happened to professionalism?

“...Robin?” It’s Batman again, this time, voice cautious. Tim snaps to attention, even though it’s still the wrong inflection, wrong time. 

“Tim. Just Tim.”

The Robin grin turned a shade more carefree, and Jason slings an arm lightly around Tim’s shoulder. “Well, Tim, what would you say to some breakfast?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Jason wasn’t supposed to show up this chapter? But he sure did, and the next ~1000 words just wrote themselves


End file.
